


In Sickness and in Health

by nomical



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Broken Bones, Engagement, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Painkillers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/pseuds/nomical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin is injured at work, Arthur rushes to the hospital, half out of his mind with worry over his fiance's condition. It turns out he's right to be worried, but for a different reason than the one he's expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for [Merlin Reverse BigBang 2015](http://merlinreversebb.livejournal.com/) and inspired by the gorgeous art done by [deheerkonijn](http://deheerkonijn.tumblr.com/). Deheerkonijn, you are the best artist, cheerleader, and friend I could have asked for and this story absolutely would not have seen the light of day without you <3\. Everyone go leave her lots of love on the [art post](http://deheerkonijn.tumblr.com/post/127817014490/in-sickness-and-in-health-by-nomical-on).
> 
> Special thanks go to [barbitone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone) and [WinstonEli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WinstonEli/pseuds/WinstonEli) for the beta work and hand-holding and of course to the mods for all the hard work they did running the fest. Make sure you check out the other fantastic entries!
> 
> One last note: I apologize in advance for any factual errors in this fic. I'm not a doctor, nor have I been admitted to an A&E in the UK, so my only experience with this comes from the times I've broken bones and gone to a Canadian hospital. That, and a whole lot of Googling.
> 
> Disclaimer: This particular rendition of the Arthurian legend characters belongs to Shine and the BBC. Sadly I make zero profit off this.
> 
> EDIT: I'm sorry to anyone who was a) turned off by the major character death tag or b) disappointed when it didn't happen. Either way, the tags are now changed to reflect the warnings properly. My only excuse is I'm a stoop who doesn't proofread their own posts and that tag slipped through when it was SUPPOSED to be no archive warnings apply. Thanks to [hedgehogunited](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehogunited/pseuds/hedgehogunited) for pointing this out!!!

 

“Who would care to go next?” the posh voice of Uther Pendragon broadcasts across the green, made slightly tinny by use of the megaphone.

Once again, Merlin curses his bad luck of falling for one Arthur Pendragon. Sure he’s got the looks of a movie star and acts like a real life Prince Charming, but Merlin is seriously starting to question if any relationship is worth this amount of pain. If he had of stayed with Steve, the two of them would have been backpacking through Thailand right now (if Steve’s Instagram photos aren’t all pulled from Google). With Ellen he’d probably be anxiously awaiting the birth of their first child (his Facebook feed has been positively aflutter with the news). With Oliver he’d probably still be drunk from the night before and getting ready to hit the town again tonight. So maybe not Oliver then, but Todd, Todd had been nice. He wouldn’t have ended up in half the crazy situations he’s lived through over the years with Todd. Todd was an accountant for Christ’s sake. But no, Merlin had to go and fall in love with actual sunshine stud muffin Arthur Pendragon.

Which is how he ended up in his here; working at Pendragon Industries in a bizarre attempt to bond with his future father-in-law. To be completely fair, Arthur had been against the idea from the start. Merlin probably should have taken a leaf out of Arthur’s book and taken a job as far removed from the family business as possible. But back then everything had looked so simple: Uther was looking to expand the R&D department, Merlin was fresh out of uni and desperate for employment, and the slightly awkward Sunday night family dinners weren’t laying the happy foundation he was looking for. He had been positive that once he and Uther had something in common to talk about, they would grow closer than two peas in a pod (or at the very least chip away at the icy exterior Uther adopted every time Merlin opened his mouth). So like an idiot, Merlin had sent in his application and started the month after graduation. Five years later, and Merlin was no closer to being friends with Uther than he was to climbing Mount Everest, and frankly at this point that mountain was looking mighty attractive.

It’s not that he wasn’t enjoying his job. He was making good money in a field that was sort of vaguely related to what he studied at uni, and if the moaning his friends did about the job market was anything to go by, he had really lucked out. Hell, even with all Uther’s connections, it had still taken Arthur half a year before he found anything with full time hours. And sure, it wasn’t sunshine and daisies all the time (because what job is) but for the most part, Merlin enjoyed his work. Three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. Because on the three hundred and sixty-fifth day of the year, Uther Pendragon hosts the annual Cooperation and Mediation Evaluation Learning Office Training Games – affectionately dubbed the CAMELOT Games. Merlin thinks it’s a bit of a stretch to use the ‘a’ for ‘and’ but figures it was probably because Uther really just wanted to call them the CAMELOT Games. Uther is all about branding. On the surface, participating in something called ‘The CAMELOT Games’ sounds like it could be potentially fun. But once you start looking at what the Games are, one can understand why Merlin dreads them.

For reasons Merlin will never understand, Uther latched on to the hipster uprising of the late 2000s and completely renovated the interior of the building that had belonged to the Pendragon family for over a century. Following in Google’s footsteps, he hired a design team of people analytics managers and installed ball pits, novelty-themed cafes, and sleep pods. With a specific interest in the longevity of his employees, he also made all the healthy foods in the various cafeterias free and gave everyone the option of having a special treadmill desk installed at their workstation. It annoys Arthur to no end that Merlin can fill his daily exercise quota at work without having to take time out of his evenings or weekends. But with all this emphasis on putting the employee first comes some of Uther’s more out there ideas.

The CAMELOT Games started as a bonafide work retreat that ran an entire weekend and took place in the Cotswolds or the Lake District. Over the years they morphed into a single ‘fun’ day out in London with an emphasis on teamwork and employee bonding, as various opinion polls stated employees would much rather have one concentrated day of activities. Merlin thinks that he would feel much more bonded with his coworkers if he spent the day on rides with them at Thorpe Park but sadly, despite having put this idea forward via the suggestion box, the committee hasn’t taken him up on it. So instead the day is spent playing stimulating rounds of Fizz Buzz and Ibble Dibble and other games that preschoolers or drunk uni students might enjoy. And really, there’s nothing inherently wrong with playing games. Merlin enjoys a bit of silliness as much as the next person. But an entire day is a bit much. Especially since so many of the games rely on a good sense of balance and coordination, neither of which are skills Merlin can boast about on his resume.

But the numbers don’t lie, and statistics show that employees at Pendragon Corporation are sixteen percent happier than employees at industry equivalent companies – and rising. Merlin hopes Uther’s desire to keep his employees happy comes from a genuine place of concern over their wellbeing and not just out of a desire to increase productivity (which is also the rise). Or perhaps his giving of material gifts is to make up for the lack of warmth in his one-on-one interactions; he doubts anyone knows for sure. What he does know, is that he regrets picking this particular tree to linger under. Because this particular tree is beside the green stretch being used for the three-legged race; and Uther has just made direct eye contact with him.

“Mr. Emrys, would you care to step forward and pair with up with young Mordred?” he crackles through the megaphone.

All eyes in the vicinity turn towards his tree. Screaming internally, Merlin schools his face into a smile and tries to be a good sport for the sake of his relationship with his future father-in-law. Already pulling a tie from the bag, Mordred waves him over eagerly.

It’s not a dislike of Mordred that’s making him drag his feet. Mordred is new to the company and has brought a lot of great ideas. Merlin remembers being in his place; fresh from uni and brimming with energy, thinking he was going to change the world. But with this inexperience comes a desire to prove oneself – and if his performance at work is anything to go by, Mordred is going to try to win this competition. Which would be alright if Merlin wasn’t the kind of person who often fell over when he was standing still.

“Alright Merlin?” asks Mordred as Merlin draws nearer.

“Yeah, you?”

“Alright. Got us a red tie, my lucky colour! I’ve got a good feeling about this.” Mordred beams at him.

“Great.” Merlin tries to sound more optimistic than he feels.

Letting Mordred take the lead, he scans the field (and really, who has the kind of money needed to rent out an entire park in central London? It’s obscene) as Mordred binds his right leg to Merlin’s left. Their competition is mostly from other departments and he knows very few of them by name. He does however, spot Cedric paired with his cousin Cornelius a few couples down from them and his stomach flops unpleasantly. Cedric and Merlin have a longstanding feud over getting their ideas on the whiteboard first. All the free yoga and complementary blueberry wheatgrass smoothies in the world aren’t enough to solve every inter-workplace squabble and it sometimes get nasty. Merlin would be more than ready to shake hands and bury the hatchet if Cedric wasn’t such a complete twat about the whole thing.

Catching his eye, Cedric gives him a little wave and Merlin has to resist rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know about coming in first, but let’s at least beat Cedric, eh?” says Merlin.

“Aye aye Captain! Inner feet first.” Mordred finishes the knot and they take their first wobbly steps together.

It’s actually not as bad as Merlin expected. Not something he’s eager to do every day, but it’s definitely manageable as long as they keep their pace stable.

“If everyone is ready,” Uther’s bored drawl cuts through Merlin’s concentration.

“Steady on!” says Mordred as they stumble and Merlin has to flail a little to keep upright.

Merlin can hear Cedric’s snigger and vows to take him down.

They troop up to the starting line, arms wrapped around each other’s waists and Merlin is acutely aware of how stupid they must all look.

“The rules of the race are simple. The first team to cross the finish line with their legs still bound wins,” says Uther, in what is perhaps the most redundant explanation of all time. “Players, are you ready?”

Shouts ring out down the line. Beside him, Mordred gives a cry of excitement and Merlin can’t help but cheer alongside him.

Instead of a countdown, Uther opts to start the race by blowing an air horn. As the honk pierces the air, Mordred takes the initiative and drags their bound leg forward. Merlin reacts a second too late and stumbles as half his body moves without his permission.

“Inside first, remember?” asks Mordred as he hauls Merlin back up.

Around them, their competition is in shambles. Some pairs are chugging slowly down the field, others are sprawled on the ground in ungainly piles. Merlin is pleased to see Cedric struggling to pull a panting Cornelius to his feet. He doesn’t have much time to gawk though, as he’s barely got himself reoriented before Mordred sets off again.

Moving as one, Mordred sets a steady rhythm. They’re still wobbly and a little bit awkward but Merlin is pleased that they’re finally clearing some ground. Along the edge of the pitch their coworkers’ faces are blurs. Their cheers egging him on, Merlin can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. He’s just starting to believe Mordred’s earlier sentiments about winning when he catches movement to their left. Tearing up the pitch faster than they have any right to, Cedric and Cornelius are starting to pass them.

“Oh hell no,” Merlin mutters.

Mordred whoops in agreement.

It’s become evident that the race is down to the two teams. Cheers of, “come on Merlin!” and, “go Mordred!” are perforated by equal praise for the other pair. Sweat breaking out across his brow, Merlin pushes himself to his limits.

“Those treadmill desks are finally paying off!” he pants.

“That’s the spirit!” Mordred cries.

Charging down the pitch, they’re neck in neck. Merlin can feel a stitch starting in his side but pushes through it. By sheer force of will, Merlin and Mordred pull themselves ahead. The sweat on his lips tastes like victory, even if his vision is going slightly blurry around the edges. He knows they’ve won when Cedric howls and the crowd starts clapping. And then, for reasons he’ll never understand, Mordred stops suddenly and Merlin goes flying.

It sounds cliché, but time honest to god slows down. He can’t be airborne for more than a few seconds, but in that time, Merlin sees what’s about to happen clear as day – and it’s going to be _bad_. He tucks his arm under him to brace for impact and thinks _shitting fuck balls_ as he goes down. He’s had some pretty bad falls in his time so he’s prepared to come out with some scrapes and maybe a sprain or two. What he’s not expecting is the sudden snap of his ankle as the tie linking him to Mordred pulls him back to earth. Just like that, the time flow returns to normal and Merlin hits the ground with a sickening thump.

He’s managed to get his left arm into a brace position but his right arm is crushed at an awkward angle beneath him. His nose smashes into the dirt as he skids and the earth stings as it slices him open. There’s a dull throb in his ankle that isn’t helped by another jerk on the tie – what he assumes is Mordred being pulled along in his wake. When he finally stops sliding he’s surprised at the general lack of pain. Sure his ankle is fucked and his face feels like he just lost a round with a cheese grater, but it isn’t anything he hasn’t felt before. Around him, the cheers turn to shouts and he decides that he should probably get up as soon as possible to let everyone know he’s alright. Especially Uther. God, he'll never be able to look him in the eye again after making such a spectacle of himself. He rolls on to his side so he can use both arms to push himself up. That’s when the pain starts.

When Merlin was a child, his class went on a field trip to a farm. He doesn’t remember a lot from the trip but the one thing that has stuck in his mind to this day is watching grain get turned into flour in an old-fashioned stone mill. The farmer had patiently explained how the grain was being crushed between two stones and ground down into a fine powder. He remembers feeling a little bit sorry for the poor grain, watching it drop down the flue, reduced to its meanest parts.

That’s the closest analogy he can make for the pain in his arm. It’s like the bones are grinding together, doing their best to turn into dust.

“Well that was a mistake,” he says, as he staggers upright.

He cradles his right arm uselessly to his chest, using left hand to support his elbow. It feels like the bones could crack with every minute movement and he's afraid to injure himself more than he already has. His left ankle is trying very hard to make itself known by sending shooting pain up his leg and he can feel a bit of blood trickling down beside his eye, but it’s his arm that's really worrying him. The only time he’s ever broken a bone was in P.E. in Year 4 (and really, it was just about the stupidest injury he's ever had. Who breaks a bone jumping up and down in excitement _before_ the game even starts?). It was so long ago that he can't really compare the sensations but he has a bad feeling he may be able to tick off another square on his injury bingo card. This isn't something he can just walk off.

“Merlin! Mate, are you alright?” asks Mordred, bending down to untie their ankles. He’s managed to pull himself up much faster than Merlin did with nothing but a bit of dirt on his trousers to show he was even on the ground at all.

“I’ve been better.” Merlin laughs and immediately regrets it as his wrist screams in protest. Clenching his teeth, he breathes through the pain and wills it to be over soon.

“Your face is really white.” The fear in Mordred’s voice is palpable but Merlin can't worry about that right now. His entire world has been reduced to keeping his arm attached to his body, all his remaining focus on staying upright.

Around them, their colleagues are rushing towards them.

“That was one hell of a fall.”

“He should get that checked out!”

“Should we call for an ambulance?”

“No! No ambulance, it’s fine,” Merlin interjects. “I’ll take myself.”

“Merlin, you can barely stand!” says Mordred.

“I’m fine,” Merlin lies, shutting his eyes.

“Well you’re not going by yourself, that’s completely out of the question!”

“Alright, alright!” Merlin has to pause to ride out another stab of pain. “Can you reach into my pocket and pull out my phone?”

Mordred does as requested and Merlin is grateful for how gentle he is.

“You can call whoever you want, but I’m still going with you until they get there,” warns Mordred. “Who am I calling?”

Ah yes, who to call. Strange as it may sound, this question doesn't have an automatic answer for Merlin. Because while the answer may be obvious for some, Merlin has many factors to consider. Like how pissed at him Arthur is going to be when he finds out he’s managed to get himself hurt _again_. And how much he's going to fuss over him at the hospital. And whether or not he’s going to yell at the doctors again like that time Merlin was admitted for breathing difficulties when he had the flu. And whether it’s maybe just better to let Arthur know what's happening _after_ he's got the cast on his arm.

“Try Gwen, under S,” he grits out.

Bless the youth and their affinity with technology. Mordred finds Gwen in less than five seconds and has the phone to his ear. Merlin is glad that everyone else has let Mordred take point on this and have stepped back to give them a little breathing space. He doesn't like people fawning over him at the best of times, and he's not confident he’d be able to bite his tongue if someone else started fussing over him.

“It’s gone to voicemail,” says Mordred.

“Don’t bother leaving a message. Do Leon. He’s under L, no K.”

They wait as Mordred raises the phone a second time. Either it’s getting hot very quickly, or he’s about to have something else to be seriously concerned about.

“Same again.”

Curse all his friends for having city jobs.

 “Freya? L.”

Apparently satisfied that Merlin isn’t in immediate danger, the onlookers concerned murmurs turn to gossipy whispers. Merlin closes his eyes and lets it all wash over him. He catches bits of ‘is this considered a workplace injury?’ and ‘does he get workers comp for this?’ and even ‘he’d hardly sue, he’s dating the boss’ son!’

“Straight to voicemail. Are you sure you don’t want me to try Arthur?”

“Could someone please get me a chair?” Merlin pants weakly. His arm is still screaming in agony but his head has started swimming and the rumour mill is sounding further and further away by the second.

“Merlin?” Mordred’s voice cuts through the fog in his head, sharp and scared.

He tries to respond but finds that all his words have deserted him and he’s losing the battle with the blackness bleeding into his vision. The voices around him have turned into an angry buzz and he hopes he’s actually passing out and not about to get stung to death by a rogue colony of bees. He’s still conscious as he starts to fall, strong arms catching him before he hits the ground. The jarring impact of crashing into another body sends a fresh spike of pain rattling along his arm. For one, beautiful moment, his hearing comes back to him.

“Someone call 999!”

“Who’s his emergency contact?”

“It’s my son,” says the unmistakable voice of Uther. “I’ll call him.”

Then everything goes black.

***

Stuck on the Overground between a group of tourists and a hen-do party, Arthur Pendragon is not a happy camper. First and foremost because the trains move at approximately the same speed as an ant swimming through molasses, which means riding the Overground is like taking a trip through the land that time forgot. He’s also less than happy that his meeting ran overtime and that it’s just gone half one. By the time he gets back to the office it will be three which means he may as well just stop entertaining the idea of eating lunch entirely and skive off at four. Maybe Merlin will be able to sneak away from the idiotic Games early and they can go to T.G.I. Friday’s and get drunk on overpriced cocktails before the rest of the city boys pile in to kick off their weekends.

He’s only been on the train for three stops and it feels like it’s been about a week. As they pull into Hackney Central a mother and her brood of four start the process of detraining. He crushes himself into the pack of tourists who are either blind to their surrounding or arseholes as they barely move an inch and glare at him as if _he’s_ in the wrong (and really, tourists or not, how hard is it to grasp the concept that a mother with a stroller _might_ need some extra room to get off the train?). Eventually though they make enough room to let what feels like half the train off. The seats proceed to fill again by those smart enough to stand in the center of the compartment and by queue jumpers who force themselves onto the train and push pass their fellow travellers.

He’s just started making a move for a seat down the middle of the compartment (and eyeing up his competition in the form of a very robust looking ginger-haired woman in her forties) when his phone goes off. This is slightly unusual for two reasons. One, because even though it’s the Overground, meaning the train stays _above ground_ and should have no reason to loose signal in a city which boasts some eight million residents he often finds himself with no bars – something which makes the already unpleasant journey feel even more forever-taking. The other reason it’s unusual is because unless he’s very much mistaken, it’s the dulcet tones of the Imperial March from Star Wars blaring at top volume from his speakers, indicating that his father is calling him. And while his father does occasionally call him about various topics from time to time (mostly to ask him when he’s going to give up his ridiculous career in the fashion industry and come back to ‘the family business’ which always makes him sound like he’s in a 1940s era mob film) he almost never calls during business hours: not unless something has gone seriously wrong. Stopping midstride, he gives up the advantage in the seat war to pull out his phone. The red-headed woman gives him an admonishing glare as she settles herself in the seat.

“Hello?”

“Hello Arthur,” says Uther in the unique way only he can, simultaneously regal and disappointed. “Your idiot partner has gone and landed himself in hospital.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat. “What?”

“Yes, he seems to have had some kind of difficultly with the three-legged race, though his teammate managed to complete the same task without injury,” Uther huffs.

Fighting the urge to react to his father’s snide attitude towards the love of his life (because lord knows they’ve been down that path far too many times) Arthur takes a moment to center himself before responding. “How badly is he hurt?”

“How precisely am I supposed to know that?”

“You could, oh I don’t know, ask him?” says Arthur, massaging his forehead.

“What a brilliant idea, I’ll just hop in a taxi and shake him awake then shall I? They called for an ambulance when he passed out and the paramedics have already taken him away.”

“He passed out?!”

Arthur’s volume has now risen well beyond the decibel level acceptable for public transport. Around him, passengers glower at him from behind newspapers and phones. One would think that hearing snippets of a conversation where someone important to the recipient of the call is injured would fill people with empathy. Unfortunately, that is a falsehood as the Overground turns people into monsters. Only a few members of the Hen-do are looking at him with pity (the rest too busy causing their own ruckus) and Arthur has a strong suspicion that their sympathy is mostly fueled by alcohol.

“Yes he did, which is most inconvenient.”

Arthur can feel his blood pressure rising and grips the standing pole even harder.

“Most _inconvenient_?” he asks, injecting as much venom into the word as he can muster.

“Yes. They’ll have to do an enquiry into the Games now to see if they’re safe to continue. I won’t stand for having one fool of an employee ruining the fun for everyone else. Statistics show that company morale and synergy is significantly boosted after-”

“Father, I’m working very hard to not say anything I’ll regret later, but right now I don’t give a flying fuck about your stupid Games. Did the paramedics say where they’re taking him?”

“University College Hospital.” If Uther took any offense to Arthur’s words he doesn’t let it show, sounding just as bored as usual. “Would you like me to call you a cab?”

He can’t have screwed up that badly, because offering to spend money on something he deems frivolous is basically Uther speak for ‘I love you’.

“It’s alright, I’m on the train now, it’ll be just as fast to stay on it.”

“Right. Well,” says Uther stiffly.

Knowing his father would never voluntarily ask after Merlin’s health, Arthur gives him an out. “I’ll call you tonight to let you know if Merlin is planning to sue.”

“Please do.”

The line goes silent and Arthur changes apps. CityMapper tells him it will take approximately twenty-six minutes and two trains to get to his destination. A cab might be marginally faster, but Arthur refuses to get caught in traffic and it’s always rough this time of day around King’s Cross and St. Pancras. Willing the train to go faster, he’s about to place a call to his boss to let her know he needs the rest of the day off when the train slows from snail speed to a complete stop. The loudspeaker above him crackles to life and Arthur resists the urge to bash his head against the standing pole repeatedly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to be held at this signal until an Eastbound train passes. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes but I will keep you updated as more information comes in. On behalf of the London Overground, I’m very sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. Thank you.”

The muffled groans of his fellow passengers is nothing compared to apocalyptic level of rage Arthur feels at knowing Merlin is alone and unconscious somewhere on a stretcher. Merlin hurts himself far more frequently than Arthur is comfortable with, but normally Arthur is there with him to bandage him up. Merlin on his own in unknown condition is Arthur’s worst nightmare. And he’s stuck on a train for God knows how long with absolutely no control over the situation. Doing what any other self-respecting Brit would do in his situation, he pulls out his headphones, selects an appropriately moody playlist and hits play, simmering in silent wrath.

The transport gods must be smiling on him though, and they aren’t stopped for more than three songs before the train starts moving again. Arthur refuses to give in and check the time, knowing it will only make him feel worse. When they finally pull in to Highbury and Islington, he exits the train as fast as he can without actually pushing people out of the way. Behind him, one of the Hen-do women calls, “I hope your brother is okay!”

He pelts down the platform, weaving between the commuters who are watching the crazy running man with mild interest. Cursing the station design, he jogs up the stairs two at a time, racing through the station until he reaches the escalator. Here he’s forced to slow down for safety’s sake (because he’ll be no use to Merlin if he breaks his neck) but he still joins the fast moving line on the left. The transport gods are definitely with him today, as a Southbound train is just pulling up as he reaches the platform.

Despite being short, the ride is absolute agony. He hates feeling helpless, and not knowing Merlin’s condition means he can’t even prepare himself for how bad it might be. Merlin could have passed out from any number of things. He just hopes it isn’t a concussion. And that there’s no internal bleeding. And that he hasn’t aspirated. And dear lord, he needs to stop thinking about it.

The doors open for Warren Street Station and there’s so much congestion he can’t do much but shuffle briskly towards the exit. Exhausted from his earlier sprint, he decides to conserve his energy and let the escalator carry him up to street level. There’s a slight lull in his speed as he waits to tap through the barriers (as he’s cursed and always picks the slowest moving gate to line up for) but once he’s out on the street he starts running again.

The hospital is impossible to miss, a monster of a building made of sea green glass and artfully coordinated steel beams. He legs it across the street and follows the helpful red signs that direct him along to the A&E entrance. He’s sweaty and completely out of breath by the time he passes through the doors and forces himself to ignore the wave of anxiety that threatens to engulf him every time he enters a hospital.

“Arthur Pendragon, here to see Merlin Emrys,” he gasps.

The woman behind the desk glances up from behind her computer, the very picture of composure.

“When was Mr. Emrys brought in?” she asks calmly.

“I’m not sure. Sometime in the last forty minutes.” He leans on the desk for support.

“And what is the nature of Mr. Emrys’ injury?”

“I don’t know.” His chest is still heaving and he hopes he doesn’t sound as lost as he feels. “He was injured during a company retreat – I think from a fall. He would have been unconscious when he came in but I’m his emergency contact so his office gave me a call.”

The woman has been typing rapidly as he talks. She clicks her mouse a few times and is apparently satisfied with whatever is on her screen.

“Are you friend or family?” She gives him a piercing look.

“I’m his partner, but we’re engaged!” he says suddenly feeling the need to defend his claim to be here. He’s not entirely sure where the law falls on the matter, but the hospital may have some kind of policy in place prohibiting visitors that aren’t related by blood or legal union. To drive the point home, he holds up his left hand for examination and points unnecessarily at his engagement ring.

She stares at him, her face unreadable and for one horrible moment Arthur is sure she’s going to turn him away and he’s going to have to throw a fit.

“He’s in room 3B. Go down the hall, turn left, and then take the second right. His door will be open unless a doctor is already examining him. There’s a young man in there with him who will need to leave now that his next of kin has arrived.”

“Thank you.” Arthur’s knees buckle and his whole body sags in relief, the desk now the only thing supporting his weight.

“And you’ll pass a pair of vending machines on your way if you’re in need of refreshments,” she says, already back to staring at the computer.

Arthur nods vacantly, thoughts now settling on what he’ll find when he walks into the room. If asked, he honestly wouldn’t be able to describe the path he took from the reception desk to Merlin’s room; his feet march him there of their own accord, his mind preoccupied with imagining the horror of what he’ll find when he gets there. He arrives at his destination exhausted and it feels like he’s already gone through the five stages of grief. But as he sticks his head around the corner, he’s greeted with a far different picture than the one he imagined.

Merlin is sitting upright and is very much awake. His right arm is cradled in a soft sling with what look like icepacks settled in along a brace. His left shoe is off and his ankle is wrapped in a tensor bandage but other than that and the obvious scrapes on his face that’s it. The fact that he’s conscious is far more than Arthur dared hope for. He also seems to be struggling to take his dress shirt off with one hand while simultaneously fighting off Mordred in the process.

“Merlin, the nurse said she’d cut the shirt off if they need to, there’s no point trying to faff around with the buttons!” Mordred says in a tone that suggests they’ve already had this conversation.

“I jus wan to help,” slurs Merlin.

He continues fussing ineffectually with the buttons until he looks up and catches sight of Arthur. His hand freezes midair and his face changes from one of mild irritation to the expression of someone who’s seeing a rainbow for the first time.

“Arthur, you’re here!”

His eyes continue to widen well past the point of normality and he leans forward as if he needs to touch Arthur to confirm what he’s seeing. Unfortunately, Merlin’s never had the best sense of balance and he leans enough that he actually starts to fall off the table. Arthur watches, frozen in horror.

“Arthur, thank go- steady on mate!” Mordred expertly catches Merlin under the armpits and manhandles him back onto the table. “I didn’t know if Uther was actually going to call you or not! I was too busy making sure Sleeping Beauty here didn’t choke on her own drool.”

“Arthur Arthur come here! I need to see you!” Merlin whines, twisting in Mordred’s grasp.

“You better do as you’re told.” Mordred rolls his eyes. “They gave him something for the pain when he woke up in the ambulance. He’s been quite the demanding little bugger ever since.”

“Ah.” Arthur crosses the room and comes to stand on Merlin’s other side. “Merlin doesn’t react very well to medication. Even drinking a LemSip makes him a bit loopy.”

As if to prove his point, Merlin throws his good arm around Arthur and happily nuzzles into his neck.

“Arthur, they had to take all the laces out of my shoe to get it off my foot!”

“I can see that,” says Arthur, staring at the deep red laces pooled inside the aforementioned shoe.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to get them back in again?” He’s on the verge of tears now and Arthur has to forcibly resist laughing.

“I think I’m up to the challenge,” he says with the straightest face he can muster.

“Oh thank God! I couldn’t just throw Lefty out. Righty would be so sad.” Merlin’s face is the picture of misery as he burrows further into Arthur’s neck.

Mordred snorts. “I’m pretty sure what they gave him was stronger than LemSip.”

“I bet. I blame his mother for his low tolerance – all that hippy dippy naturopath stuff – though to be fair he gets weirdly attached to things _without_ the help of low level painkillers. I don’t think he’s ever had anything with codeine in it, and that’s saying something when you think about how often he manages to injure himself.”

“Uther isn’t going to be happy about this. He’ll have so much paperwork to fill out,” Merlin interjects morosely.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Oh no!” Merlin wails.

Mordred snickers.

“Listen,” says Arthur, manoeuvering so that he’s facing Mordred while still supporting Merlin, “the nurse at reception told me to throw you out when I got back here and I kind of want to stay on her good side.”

“Ooh yeah say no more. I had a brisk little chat with her when I gave her Merlin’s intake forms – which by the way, were exceptionally hard to answer given the state he’s in. She’s a bit intense, isn’t she?”

“Just a tad. I wasn’t sure she was going to let me in so I flashed her my engagement ring like an absolute bellend.”

Merlin sniggers and mouths ‘bellend’ softly into Arthur’s neck.

“Then I’ll be off,” says Mordred, picking up his jumper. “I wrote out a description of the accident in and if the doctors have any questions, Merlin should be able to answer them once he sobers up a little.”

“So it’s definitely just the drugs making him act like this?” Arthur asks nervously. “He didn’t hit his head or anything?”

“Nope. I think his wrist might be broken because it took the brunt of the impact when he landed on it and he was hobbling a little once I got our legs untied – but other than that I think he’s fine!”

Arthur groans. “I was hoping my father was joking when he said Merlin injured himself during a three-legged race.”

“Not the noblest of injuries,” Mordred concedes. “But it’ll be a great story to tell at parties!”

“I suppose. And thank you for taking care of him,” he adds emphatically.

“My pleasure. Bye Merlin!”

“Bye!” says Merlin, wiggling the fingers on his good hand in a parody of a wave.

Mordred waves back, shaking his head as he leaves. It takes Merlin approximately five seconds to pick up on the difference.

“Where’d he go?” Merlin asks without a care in the world, a line of drool leaking out of the side of his face and dampening Arthur’s shirt.

“Oh Merlin,” Arthur sighs, pressing a kiss to his temple, “what am I going to do with you?”

“The same thing we always do Pinky. Try to take over the world.”

“While I appreciate the attempt, I don’t think the line quite fits the situation.”

Arthur pulls back and pushes Merlin gently upright. Up close, it’s easy to see that Merlin lost epically in his battle against the ground. The right side of his face is starting to bruise; high on his cheekbone and under his eye. A large scrape runs along the length of his jaw, accompanied by a smattering of other nicks and scratches.

He presses the tips of his fingers to the bruising under Merlin’s eye, feather-light but unable to keep his hands off him.

Regardless of any pain he might be feeling, Merlin leans into the touch, eyes closed and gives a happy little sigh.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” asks Arthur, trying to pull back without letting Merlin become off balanced.

“Probably,” Merlin concedes. “But you feel good and I missed you.”

“You missed me?” Arthur chuckles. “We’ve only been apart about five hours.”

Merlin opens his eyes and stares at him unblinkingly, as if he can convey how serious the situation is entirely through his eyes.

“I always miss you Arthur. You’re…you’re the best!”

Merlin wobbles dangerously close to the edge of the table and Arthur has to use both hands to re-center him.

“You are Arthur! The most best,” Merlin continues, oblivious to his surroundings.

“Thank you Merlin, you’re the most best too,” says Arthur fondly. “So before they gave you the happy juice, what was hurting?”

“M’arm. Or wrist. I can’t really remember which bit of it. Somewhere…here.” He gestures vaguely with his good arm.

“And what about your ankle?”

“Ankle?” Merlin looks at him with a wide smile and vacant eyes.

“Mordred said your legs were tied together and you were wobbling on it,” Arthur reminds him slowly.

“Oh. Was I?” asks Merlin obliquely. “It feels fine right now.” He shrugs and to Arthur’s absolute horror, starts swinging it back and forth to illustrate his point.

“Merlin,” a female voice warns from the doorway, “what did I tell you about keeping still?”

Merlin stops swinging his leg immediately and Arthur turns to see their new arrival.

A tall blonde woman stands with her hands on her hips. The first thing that strikes Arthur is how gorgeously full her lips are and he fleetingly wonders if she’s ever modeled. Her hair is done up in a messy bun, undoubtedly frazzled by long hours on the job, but it suits her nonetheless. Her scrubs have cartoon characters all over them in a style reminiscent of the shows Merlin is always trying to get him to watch and make her look very endearing.

“Sorry Ellie,” says Merlin, biting his bottom lip and smiling in a look that’s downright bashful.

Arthur takes pause at that, a small frown creasing his brow. The only other time he’s seen that look on Merlin’s face before was back in their uni days before they’d started dating. One memory in particular stands out at him: they’d both been spectacularly drunk at a pub night and Arthur had been using all his best moves to seduce his pretty floor-mate. He remembers leaning against a wall and stroking Merlin’s hair away from his face, Merlin looking up at him through his eyelashes, the same smile on his face and his ears bright pink in the low light. Granted, he can’t remember much else about the evening but the point stands. The look Merlin is giving ‘Ellie’ now is eerily similar.

She’s got her back to them, busily preparing an otoscope and ripping sterile attachments out of their packaging. Wrapping an arm around Merlin’s shoulder, he clears his throat.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, and since my _fiancé_ here is too loopy to do the job, my name is Arthur Pendragon.”

The nurse turns around to look at him, clearly confused.

“You aren’t the same one who was here before?”

“What?” he replies feeling wrong-footed. “No.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” she presses a hand to her chest. “Everyone looks the same to me. Well, except of course for our little cherub here who’s gone and done himself a harm. I’m Elena.”

She holds out her hand and beams at him. Arthur hesitates for a moment before extending his own but if she notices, it doesn’t sour her mood. She grips his hand rather more tightly than he expects and pumps it up and down vigorously before turning back to her workstation.

Arthur briefly wonders how much help Elena is going to be to Merlin if she didn’t even notice the difference between him and Mordred. It’s not like Arthur excepts women to fall at his feet over his looks; his bachelor days are long over and he’s quite happy with his current status thank you very much. But to mistake him for Mordred who probably weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet is a bit much. Their hair colours are on opposite ends of the spectrum for God’s sake!

Merlin apparently didn’t find anything that just happened particularly odd, or at least not enough to voice an opinion. He’s staring transfixed at the figures on Elena’s scrubs, unblinking. Though he was at least tuned in enough to preen when Elena called him her ‘little cherub’ Arthur notes bitterly.

“So Merlin,” says Elena, turning back towards them, “now that you’re a wee bit more stable, I’d like to take some vitals from you. I’m not going to hurt you – just look in your eyes, ears, mouth, and nose to make sure there isn’t anything else going on we should be concerned with.”

“He’s not a child,” Arthur chides. “He _has_ had a medical exam before.”

“Did he have a possible concussion any of those other times?” Elena raises her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Arthur lies.

“Well then you’ll know that when a patient has a possible concussion, they need to have the exam procedures explained to them in simple terms given that they still need to consent to it.”

There’s a brief pause while Arthur considers his next words. “Mordred said he didn’t think he hit his head,” he says knowing full well he sounds like a child.

“That’s true,” says Elena, her voice taking on a practiced tone, “but if that’s the case, he’s reacting very strongly to the medication and we need to establish a set of baseline vitals just in case he needs any sort of procedures done.”

“Procedures?” says Arthur, barely keeping the panic out of his voice. “What kind of procedures would he need? Mordred said it was really only his arm and maybe a foot that got hurt and if he’s conscious and talking right now then-” Elena raises both her hands and Arthur’s mouth snaps shut.

“We won’t know anything for certain until we take the x-rays, but Merlin did do quite the swan dive. Look Arthur,” she sighs, her voice losing a bit of its edge, “I know you’re worried about him, but holding up the exam isn’t doing anything to help him. The sooner I fill out his chart the sooner a doctor can come see him.”

The prickly, sour feeling in his stomach seems to lessen a bit and Arthur feels extremely foolish.

“Yes of course,” he says, removing his hand from Merlin’s chest to rake it through his hair. “It’s just a bit overwhelming.”

“Totally understandable. Now lovey,” she addresses Merlin, “do you remember what I just told you before Arthur interrupted?”

“No,” Merlin smiles serenely.

“Okay,” Elena smiles at him. “I’m going to use this tool to look inside your eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, so that the doctor knows how you’re doing. Is that okay?”

“Head and shoulders.” Merlin giggles to himself.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Head and shoulders,” Merlin repeats, still giggling.

Elena turns to Arthur. “Do you know what he’s laughing at?”

Arthur is about to say he hasn’t the foggiest when Merlin speaks again.

“Knees and toes.” He snorts.

“Ah. Merlin, dear-heart, are you laughing at the song?” Arthur pats his chest gently.

Merlin bursts out in honest to god ‘tee-hees’ of laughter and Arthur can’t help but smile.

“I think he’s referring to the head and shoulders song. My sister has a nine month old so we’ve been singing it quite a lot lately.”

“Ah, thank God. I was worried we _were_ going to have to send him for an MRI. So Merlin, can I use this tool to inspect your, ah, face?”

Merlin nods blithely at her and she starts looking in his ears.

“I like your pajamas,” he says, letting his head drop until he’s almost resting his nose on her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she says brightly, shuffling around Arthur to check the other ear. “Do you watch Adventure Time?”

“Do I ever! I love Adventure Time. So does Arthur. Don’t you?” he demands, swinging his head around so fast Arthur’s afraid he’ll give himself whiplash.

With lightning fast reflexes, Elena has the otoscope out of his ear before the idiot can impale himself and rupture his eardrum.

“Remember what we said about holding still Merlin?” Elena scolds gently.

“But you like Adventure Time? Right?” Merlin’s head is lolling back on Arthur’s shoulder, all his energy clearly going into the frown he’s currently directing at the side of Arthur’s head.

“Of course I like Adventure Time,” Arthur placates.

“Good,” says Merlin firmly. “I could never marry anyone that doesn’t like it. It’s the best.”

“I thought you said I was the best,” Arthur grumbles.

Merlin’s selective hearing kicks in again as he starts humming the Adventure Time theme song and Arthur supposes he should feel lucky that Merlin remembered their engagement period in his given state. Elena bites her lip and realigns his head to resume the exam.

“That’s great singing Merlin. Can you do it again and open your mouth at the same time? That’s good – and tongue out!”

Merlin hums his way through the rest of the exam and continues long after Elena has finished making notes on his chart.

“Merlin, you were fantastic,” she says at last, slipping the pen back into her pocket. “I’ve added our little exam to your file so now we just have to wait for the doctor to read your accident report and come see you. Make sure you tell the doctor about his low tolerance for medication,” she adds to Arthur. “After looking at him, I highly doubt he has a concussion but sometimes the doctors like to hear things from the family.”

She crosses the room to return the file to the tray outside of the door.

Merlin makes a sad little noise at her movement. “Are you leaving already?” he asks, eyes going wide.

“Sorry sweetie, I’ve got lots of other patients just like you who need my help.”

“But I’m your favourite right?” Merlin’s mouth is in a tight little pucker and Arthur would laugh if he wasn’t feeling just a tad jealous.

“You are most definitely my favourite,” she nodes solemnly. “But you won’t be alone for long. You’ll be seeing Doctor Greene today and he is just going to love you.” She winks at Arthur and backs out of the doorway.

Merlin still looks rather put out so Arthur gives his shoulder a little shake.

“If you’re alone right now what am I, chopped liver?” he teases.

“No,” says Merlin, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “You’re Arthur.”

“I know I am, I was just making a joke.”

“It wasn’t very funny.”

“Clearly,” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Do you think Elena would marry me if I ask?” Merlin demands out of nowhere.

“That’s probably breaking some kind of nurse-patient rules,” says Arthur, fighting to keep his voice steady. “As your future husband, may I ask _why_ you want to marry the nurse you’ve only known for about fifteen minutes?”

“She has really nice pajamas,” says Merlin simply.

“Oh _well_ ,” says Arthur, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I’d known your criteria for what makes a good life mate simply good _pajamas_ then I wouldn’t have-” The rest of his rant is interrupted by the melodic ‘boing’ noise from Super Mario indicating that he received a text.

“And just so you know, she’s wearing scrubs, not pajamas,” he grouses, pulling out his phone.

The message is from an unknown number and contains a YouTube link.

_Got ur # from ur dad. Cedric threw this up on YouTube and it’s making the rounds. Hope ur dad fires him but it might help the doc cos it shows what happened._

He’s just about to click the link when a second text follows.

_It’s Mordred btw._

He texts back a hasty thanks and presses the link. The video is titled “Idiot Wrecks Himself During Three-Legged Race” and is uploaded to an account called “SaltyFeathers”. Arthur bristles with anger and makes a mental note to speak to his father about Cedric as soon as they’re home. He presses play and takes in the scene before him.

Clearly Cedric didn’t film this himself, as he and an equally rat-faced companion are positioned a few rows over from Merlin and Mordred. He wonders if Cedric told the videographer what he was planning on doing with the video. Either way, his father clearly needs to spend more than one day a year promoting inter-staff connectedness.

The clip isn’t very long and whoever was filming is standing in an ideal spot just a few metres back from the finish line. Knowing what’s going to happen doesn’t make it any easier as he watches Merlin smash into the earth, taking Mordred down with him. The collective “ooooooh” of the spectators also isn’t making him feel any better. He watches the end a few times just to triple check, but he’s satisfied that Merlin didn’t bang his head on the ground. His arm and torso definitely took the full brunt of the fall and his face only smacked into the grass after he slid a little bit. It’s a small victory, but Arthur will take it.

“What are you watching?” asks Merlin, finally zeroing in on where the sound is coming from.

“Nothing,” says Arthur, trying to hit pause and keep the phone away from Merlin at the same time.

“Ooh, is that me?” asks Merlin, catching sight of himself.

The video has just gotten to the part where Merlin falls again and he watches with rapt attention as his tiny pixelated counterpart wipes out.

“Ha ha, I look funny. I just go neerump,” he says, finishing with some exploding sounds.

“It’s not funny Merlin, you could have seriously injured yourself – you _have_ seriously injured yourself!”

Merlin stares at him balefully and then presses replay on the video.

“No, no, we’re done with this for now. We’ll show Doctor Greene and then I’m phoning my father to have it removed,” says Arthur briskly, stuffing the phone back in his trousers.

“Neerump,” says Merlin quietly.

“I fully realise this is not the time or the place to have this conversation, but I wish you would take better care of yourself,” Arthur sighs.

“Was an accident!”

“I know it was an accident. But the thing is, you have quite a few accidents. I’ve never known anyone who’s sprained as many body parts as you,” Arthur says, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“I know,” says Merlin, patting the side of Arthur’s face a little too hard to be comforting. “But I’m not worried because you’re always going to be around to look after me.” He continues to pat aimlessly before adding, “Unless I marry Elena.”

Arthur grabs his hand and Merlin gives him his best and most guileless smile.

“You little shite, you’re teasing me!”

“Am I interrupting something?” asks a deep voice from the doorway.

Arthur turns at the sound and his jaw just about hits the floor. He’s never been keen on medical soaps, but Merlin went through a phase a couple of years ago where he marathoned all of Grey’s Anatomy in a month. Being the model boyfriend that he is, Arthur consented to watch bits and pieces of it with him (and possibly got sucked up in the drama of it all but that’s neither here nor there). The point is, is that for a month of Arthur’s life, he became acutely aware of the existence of Patrick Dempsey and had to reassure himself that such beautiful specimens did not exist in the real world of medicine so he’d never have to worry about losing Merlin to anyone with the nickname ‘McDreamy’.

Apparently Doctor Greene didn’t get that memo. Looking more like a stripper than a medical practitioner, Doctor Greene can only be described as rugged. He’s clearly perfected the beard to clean shaven ratio and has the picture-perfect amount of scruff. His hair looks extremely soft which, for some inane reason annoys Arthur to no end, and is tied back in a wavy ponytail at the top of his head. His well-defined muscles are visible through his jacket and really, how is the average mortal supposed to compete with _that_?

“You can interrupt anything you want,” says Merlin earnestly.

Arthur decides promptly that he hates Doctor Greene.

Doctor Greene throws back his head and laughs.

“I’m liking you already,” he says.

Of course the porn star doctor is Irish.

“So Merlin,” says Doctor Greene, flipping through his file. “I see you’ve gone and done yourself an injury.”

“It’s not that bad,” says Merlin mildly.

“It’s pretty bad,” Arthur contradicts. “I’m his _fiancé,_ Arthur Pendragon. He fell and we think he broke his wrist and possibly his ankle.”

Doctor Greene studies Arthur with a comical expression. “We’re you there when the accident occurred?”

“No, but I have a video of it.” As Arthur struggles to pull out his phone Merlin decides to take over the conversation.

“Arthur’s very keen on telling everyone today that we’re getting married,” he announces brightly. “I think he’s really excited about it. Maybe you can come to our wedding!”

“No Merlin, I think Doctor Greene is far too busy to attend the wedding of every patient he treats,” Arthur interjects, hitting play at the appropriate place and hands his phone Doctor Greene.

“Yeah, but I’m his favourite.”

“You’ve only just met him.”

“So?”

“You can’t be his favourite yet, you’ve barely said two words to him!”

“I’m always the favourite. It’s destiny.”

“Destiny my as-”

“Lads,” interrupts Doctor Greene. “As much as I’m enjoying this scintillating banter, I should probably take a look at the patient.”

He hands Arthur back his phone with a wink and oh yes, that is getting right under Arthur’s skin.

“So I’ve read your file and I think our main cause for concern is going to be that arm of yours,” he says, bending down and unwrapping the bandage from Merlin’s ankle. “But just to be certain, are you experiencing any dizziness? Nausea? Pain or pressure in your head at all?”

“Nope, everything up top is okey dokey,” Merlin smiles blissfully, forming a thumbs up with his good hand.

“Excellent. Now I need you to follow this pen without moving your head while I have a quick look in those beautiful blue eyes of yours.”

“See?” says Merlin triumphantly as he (remarkably) does what he’s told. “Favourite. I’m an instant classic. I’m like the Uptown Funk of people.”

Doctor Greene snorts but manages to keep the pen steady. Arthur sucks in his cheeks and doesn’t deign to respond to that statement.

“While I wouldn’t say you’re entirely lucid, I’m fairly confident in clearing you from having any kind of concussion,” says Doctor Greene, sticking his pen back in his pocket.

“Hooray!” cheers Merlin.

“Yes, thank God for small miracles,” says Arthur testily.

Neither Merlin nor Doctor Greene pay him the slightest bit of attention which only infuriates him more.

“That brings us to our next order of business: those lovely, swollen appendages of yours. Do me a favour and see if you can wiggle your fingers.”

Merlin complies, wiggling the fingers on his left hand in what he probably thinks looks like a cool wave pattern when in reality just looks like he’s drunk.

“Now the right,” says Doctor Greene patiently.

“Don’t want to,” says Merlin, pouting slightly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt.”

“I just need to make sure you haven’t got any nerve damage.”

Merlin still looks skeptical. “I probably don’t.”

“Please Merlin, for me?” Doctor Greene bats his eyes in a ridiculous fashion for a man pushing thirty.

Merlin, ever the weakling to doe-eyed creatures, acquiesces and the fingers on his right hand give a sad little twitch.

Arthur is about to tell him to stop playing around when Merlin gasps.

“I think that’s enough,” he pants. “I can definitely feel them.”

“Good man Merlin,” says Doctor Greene approvingly. “Now the toes.”

Arthur’s stomach tightens sourly at the sight of Merlin in pain, but ever the people-pleaser, Merlin wiggles his toes until Doctor Greene holds up his hand.

“That’s good enough.” He frowns down at the ankle. “I’m almost positive the arm is has a fracture, but with the bruising around the ankle it’s hard to tell.” He taps his pen against his teeth. “Who wants to take bets?”

“Pardon?” asks Arthur, deadpan.

“Well we’re getting it x-rayed one way or another, it’s just fun to see if we can guess beforehand. Get it? Before hand?” Doctor Greene gives him another devilish smile and Arthur desperately wants to punch him in the face.

“Twenty quid on everything’s broken,” says Merlin eagerly.

“Really?” Arthur massages his temples.

“Interesting, interesting,” says Doctor Greene, squatting to get a better look at Merlin’s ankle, “I’ve never liked ankles, they’re so weak compared to the rest of the body and it’s so tricky to tell what’s going on with them. But I never underestimate a patient’s pain threshold so I’ll bet the same as you. Arthur, care to take us on?”

“Is this even legal? Didn’t you take some oath that prevents this sort of thing?”

“There’s no harm in a little fun,” Doctor Greene shrugs. “Besides, Elena will come get us when the machine is free. So what do you say, want to join in or leave me and Merlin to our fun?”

He wiggles his eyebrows up and down in a move that looks far too much like a leer.

“Fine. Twenty pounds on the arm but not the ankle,” snaps Arthur irritably.

“Just like Harry Potter,” Merlin whispers.

“What?”

“Ireland wins but Krum catches the snitch.”

“Yes Merlin, just like Harry Potter,” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“To save time, let’s get Merlin down off the table now shall we?” says Doctor Greene, taking control of the conversation like he deals with their kind of inane banter every day. “I’ll see if I can’t rustle up a wheelchair for us.”

Arthur knows he’s being petulant, but he can’t help but feel a little put out as he watches Merlin’s eyes track Doctor Greene’s ponytail, flicking back and forth as he walks out of the room. There’s an awkward silence that’s probably only awkward for Arthur, as Merlin seems perfectly content to amuse himself by staring at nothing. His head lolls back against Arthur’s chest and he looks up at his face.

“Arthur, why is your mouth doing that thing?”

“What thing?”

“That funny thing it does that makes you look like you’ve been sucking on lemons.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snaps Arthur, furiously trying to rearrange his mouth into a more neutral shape.

“Yes you do! It’s that thing you did at Morgana’s housewarming party when Leon’s cousin was flirting with me.”

“I am not making a face!”

Arthur is spared from any further discussion on the topic by the return of Doctor Greene, pushing a squeaky wheelchair in front of him.

“Alright Merlin, let’s get you on your throne!” he says cheerfully.

“Okay,” says Merlin, helpfully vaulting himself off the table with his good arm. It takes the combined strength of Arthur and Doctor Greene to keep him from face-planting for the second time that day.

“Easy tiger,” Doctor Greene grunts as they lower Merlin into the chair.

Merlin’s lean body feels like it weighs nothing between them and Arthur is reminded just how vulnerably human Merlin is. Something painful clutches at his heart at the sight of Merlin in a wheelchair, small and slouched, and he vows to make Merlin start coming to gym with him once he’s better – no matter how much he pouts. Clearly the treadmill desk alone isn’t cutting it.

“Save the aerobatics till you’ve got use of both your legs.”

“Yes sir mister doctor sir,” says Merlin.

“I wish all my patients were this agreeable,” Doctor Greene chuckles.

“Oh yes, Merlin is the model patient,” says Arthur drily.

“Believe me, he could be a lot worse. Now,” he turns to face Merlin, “unfortunately, we’re going to have to undo some of the good work of the paramedics by unwrapping your bandages to take your x-rays.”

“Is this where you cut my shirt off? Ellie said there’d be shirt cutting,” asks Merlin eagerly.

“Why on earth do you _want_ your shirt cut off?” asks Arthur, completely exasperated.

“They do it all the time on TV and I think it’ll look cool!”

Maybe it’s the stress of the day and the post-adrenaline high culminating in this one stupid request, but the dam breaks and Arthur has had enough.

“Won’t it hurt the shirt’s feelings if you cut it off?” He knows using Merlin’s inane attachment to inanimate objects against him is a low blow, but he’s run the gamut of emotions today and all he wants to do now is get this over with so he can go home and sleep for a year.

“Oh,” says Merlin softly, the smile sliding off his face. “I didn’t think of that.”

For the first time, Doctor Greene frowns slightly at Arthur like he’s crossed a line. Not that he needs a warning look from a doctor they’ve known for all of twenty minutes – he regretted his stupid outburst the second the light started to dim in Merlin’s eyes.

“You know, I don’t think your shirt is going to mind being cut off one bit,” says Doctor Greene. “It’s very tight and once the cast goes on there won’t be any getting it off. I think your shirt would much rather die a noble death than hurt you in the process of trying to take it off later.”

“He’s right,” says Arthur quickly, not allowing himself to be upstaged by Doctor Sexy. “Besides, we can take your shirt home and turn it into a throw pillow or something.”

“Really?” asks Merlin, looking up at him hesitantly.

“Absolutely. You know how handy Gwen is with a sewing machine.”

“Alright,” says Merlin, opening his free arm wide and tilting his head back. “Make it quick.”

Doctor Greene gives him a small smile and somehow Arthur feels like he’s redeemed himself. Not that he needs to be exonerated by a pretty boy doctor, but the pit of self-loathing in his stomach loosens a little.

Merlin turns his head to face Arthur and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

“Tell me when it’s over,” he says, gripping Arthur’s hand for support.

“I will,” says Arthur, stroking his hair.

Doctor Greene makes quick work of the troublesome sleeve and cuts down the seam of the right side. Arthur undoes the buttons and gently eases the sling off over Merlin’s head. Together, they manage to slide the rest of the button up over Merlin’s head and off his good arm without moving him much at all.

“Goodbye bluey,” says Merlin sadly as Doctor Greene fiddles with the sling, “you done good.”

Arthur turns his snort into a hasty cough and leans back against the examination table.

“So,” says Doctor Greene, stepping back, “now that all your binding is off, you have to extra careful with how you move. That means no jumping out of your chair or trying to hug me, no matter how brilliant I am. Promise?”

Arthur is amazed at how many terrible lines can come out of a single person in such a short space of time.

“Promise,” says Merlin.

“Good. I’ll see you on the other side of the x-ray then. Elena will be back for you shortly.” He winks again at both of them before leaving and Arthur is now considering whether it’s a wink or an eye twitch.

“I like him,” says Merlin matter-a-factly.

“I can tell,” Arthur replies shortly.

“Don’t you?” asks Merlin, confused.

“I think he’s a fine doctor,” says Arthur diplomatically.

“Fine is a good word for him,” Merlin agrees.

Arthur closes his eyes and silently repeats a mantra. _I will not throttle my poor injured fiancé when he has no control over what he’s saying, I will not throttle my poor injured fiancé when he has no control over what he’s saying, I will not-_

“Arthur, wake up!”

_I will not throttle my poor injured fiancé when he has no control over what he’s saying._

“Arthurrrrrr,” Merlin whines.

_I will not throttle my poor injured fiancé when he has no control over what he’s saying_

“Wake up!”

“I’m not sleeping, I’m just…resting my eyes.” _I will not throttle my poor injured fiancé when he has no control over what he’s saying_

“I’m the injured party,” Merlin grumbles. “If anyone gets to sleep, it should be me.”

“Trust me Merlin, when we get home I’m tying you to the bed and you’re going to sleep for a week.”

“You’re going to waste an opportunity like that?”

Something in Merlin’s voice makes him open his eyes. He’s still slumped in the wheelchair the way Doctor Greene left him, but he’s holding his head at a bit of an angle, almost like he’s trying to be coy but can’t quite make it work in his current position.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying,” says Merlin, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “that I can think of at least five things we could be doing that are better than sleeping if I’m tied down.”

Arthur opens his mouth to respond and finds he’s got nothing. As he stands there trying to figure out how this conversation switched tracks so quickly, he notices Merlin’s eyes are looking slightly less glassy. He’s not squirming or vocalizing any complaints of pain, so he’s definitely still got a fair bit of drugs in his system, but it’s probably safe to say he’s over the worst of the high. Arthur’s still feeling a bit wrong-footed with the topic at hand when Merlin honest to God sticks his tongue out and licks his lips. And winks.

Oh God.

It probably shouldn’t be sexy, but fuck if Arthur’s dick doesn’t twitch with interest anyway.

“Merlin,” he starts slowly. “You do realise that you’ve got at least one if not two broken bones and that you’re probably going to be laid up for weeks, right?”

“I know. Wanna try to break a third. Bone. Bonner. Crap, that’s not sexy at all, is it?”

“No.” Arthur shakes his head, trying to shift his trousers without attracting attention.

“Whatever. Just because I’m meant to be immobile for a while doesn’t mean _other_ parts of me can’t move.” Merlin’s voice has a forced huskiness to it but sadly it’s still working for him.

Arthur has to turn away and picks up the remains of Merlin’s shirt to give his hands something to do. He can’t tell whether he wants to laugh or shove a hand down his pants. Honestly, it’s distressing that part of him is even thinking about sex right now when they’ve got so much else on their plates and, oh yeah, _in a hospital_. He blames his addled brain on the stress of the day. His higher brain functions are clearly burnt out from everything that’s happened and he’s retreating to let his hindbrain take over. Luckily, he’s saved from having to speak anymore by the chipper knock on the door signaling Elena’s return.

“Ready to go Wheels?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” says Merlin, his voice still slightly lower than usual.

Elena just laughs and kicks the brakes up. “You coming Arthur?”

In front of her, Merlin snickers.

“Lead the way,” says Arthur, determinately not looking Merlin in the eye.

Elena pushes off and they troop out of the room like a line of ducks, Arthur still fiddling with Merlin’s shirt.

“Where are we going?” asks Merlin, apparently having used his limited supply of coherency to tease Arthur.

“We’re going to visit Percy down in radiology and see just how badly you’ve wounded yourself,” says Elena cheerfully.

Arthur trails behind them, feeling like he’s aged ten years in the two hours they’ve spent at the hospital. They pass the triage desk where Doctor Greene is chatting to a dark haired nurse and snacking on an apple. He waves as they pass, holding the apple between his teeth to free up his hand. Arthur’s hand waves back of its own accord, the rest of him focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

They pass through a third set of double-doors into a secluded wing. Elena parks Merlin just outside a darkened room and steps around him to poke her head through the door.

“Perce? I’ve got your four o’clock outside for you.”

If Arthur had any brainpower left, he might have imagined what ‘Perce’ looked like before meeting him. He probably would have pictured a squirrely little man, maybe wearing glasses – someone who was suited to working in low light conditions for long periods of time.

The absolute hulk of a man that steps out of the shadows is nothing he would have pictured. He’s got at least four inches on Arthur, if not more judging by the way he towers over him. His scrubs are lacking sleeves and Arthur briefly wonders if that’s not in some sort of health code violation. Then again, the amount his biceps are bulging, he seriously doubts any manufacturer makes shirts with sleeves big enough to contain them. His whole physique screams that in another life this man would have been a pirate or a knight; something, _anything_ more physical than working in a dark lab. He’s possibly the most physically imposing figure Arthur has ever seen in real life. Then he smiles and goes from terrifying giant to cuddly teddy bear in two seconds flat.

Honestly, Arthur is completely underwhelmed. _Of_ _course_ the radiologist looks like he was carved from marble. At this point, Arthur wouldn’t expect anything else. This entire hospital is staffed by employees who look like they could be on The Only Way Is Essex. For all he knows, they’re all be actors and he’ll have to sign a release form before they leave today. It would make more sense than a staff of drop-dead gorgeous health care professionals all at the same hospital.

“So you’re Merlin are you?” Percy beams down at them.

“Yeah, I’d shake your hand, but,” Merlin shrugs with a hint of usual humour returning.

Percy’s eyes flick to Arthur, but before Arthur can open his mouth, Percy continues.

“And you must be the fiancé.”

“Uh, yes,” he replies sheepishly. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Oh honey, the whole A & E department’s heard of you by now.” He grins but there’s nothing malicious in it, more like he’s stating a fact.

“Well, for the record, I’m Arthur,” he says in what’s possibly the most redundant introduction of all time.

Percy just laughs and steps out of the doorway.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” He gestures them inside and Elena pushes Merlin through into the darkness.

Crossing the threshold, his eyes adjust slowly to the dim light and he’s forced to re-evaluate his initial cave-like impression of the room. It’s actually got fairly tall ceilings (probably built specially to accommodate Percy’s massive frame) even if it’s not very wide. A table bed stands in the middle of the room, a large arm hanging over top of it supporting what Arthur assumes is the x-ray machine. Crammed in the corner behind a thick wall is the operator booth, heavy lead vest visible through the glass.

“Alright Merlin, unless Doctor Greene was exaggerating, I hear you’ve got an arm _and_ a leg for me.”

Merlin gives him a hapless shrug as if this is the sort of thing that could happen anybody and not just klutzes gifted with balance issues.

“It’s my lucky day then,” says Percy, still smiling. “Let’s get you up on the table.”

Before Arthur can even take a step, Percy has Merlin scooped up in his mammoth arms and is setting him delicately on the table as if he’s made of glass and suddenly Arthur sees how Percy’s size makes perfect sense for his profession.

Merlin’s mouth is hanging agape, as if he’s having trouble processing how he got from his chair to the table.

“Ooh, I like him,” he says to Arthur in what was probably meant as a whisper.

Arthur can’t help but snigger along with the other two. For unknown reasons, he doesn’t feel threatened of Percy the same way he does with Doctor Greene. Not that he’s threatened of the doctor of course. He could definitely take on Doctor Greene in a fight, should Merlin’s honour demand it or something.

“Sorry in advance, but this isn’t going to be very comfortable,” says Percy, the smile leaving his face for the first time since their introduction. “So I’ll try to be quick. Elena?”

It’s a one word exchange, but one that’s clearly practiced. Without any further prompting, Elena heads to retrieve the heavy lead vest from its peg.

“Okay Merlin, I’m going to do all the lifting here. You just stay limp and try to relax,” says Percy, using both hands to gently reposition Merlin’s bad arm flat on the table.

Merlin’s eyes go wide and he bites down on his lip. Arthur has seen this happen more times than he’d like to. It’s the kind of reaction Merlin has when he’s in real amounts of pain but is trying to hide it for the sake of those around him. Arthur hates this look and would gladly move mountains to ensure Merlin never wears it again. Without waiting for an invitation, he clasps a hand to Merlin’s shoulder.

“It’s alright sweetheart, just breathe through it. Just breathe,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over Merlin’s collarbone.

Merlin closes his eyes and gives a jerky nod, forcing himself to take deep breaths through his nose.

It only lasts a moment before Percy has arranged both of Merlin’s arms flat on the table and has the lead vest over his chest, but Arthur is lost staring at Merlin’s face. In the hustle of daily life, he never has enough time to just appreciate Merlin. Their honeymoon phase is long over – despite their actual honeymoon being scheduled some months down the line – but every so often Arthur is struck with how amazingly lucky he is to have Merlin in his life. Sometimes it’s a logical thought, like on anniversaries or when Merlin does something particularly romantic. But other times it’s when he’s doing everyday normal tasks: doing the washing up, folding his socks, hell, even doing the cat litter. It hits him like a physical spasm in his chest and it’s completely overwhelming. The first time he felt it he thought it was an early sign of a heart attack. Now he knows what he’s sick with, but it’s nothing he wants a cure for.

“You’re doing great Merlin,” says Percy as he lines up the machine over Merlin’s ankle. “Arthur, do me a favour and pop behind the wall with Ellie. We’re almost ready to go.”

Arthur drops a brief kiss on Merlin’s forehead and whispers, “smile for the camera,” before doing as he’s told.

When he gets on the other side of the wall, Elena is waiting for him with an expression that can only be described as dewy.

“You’ve calmed down a little,” she says.

“It would seem so,” says Arthur, refusing to meet her eye, instead watching Percy finish with Merlin through the glass.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for such a soppy bugger,” she teases.

“Shut up,” he retorts like they’ve been friends for years.

It’s an odd sort of feeling. Maybe it’s just the natural bond trauma creates, or maybe it’s because he’s losing his mind from stress and exhaustion, but he feels like he would get on grand with Elena and Percy outside the hospital. And if he’s really being honest with himself, he’d probably like Doctor Greene quite a lot as well under normal circumstances. He makes a mental note to check and see if there’s any kind of comment card or online questionnaire he can fill out with their hospital experience. If he can remember, they’re all getting top marks.

Percy joins them and scoots along the wall to the controls.

“Alright Merlin, here we go.”

He twirls the appropriate knobs and presses a series of buttons which cause the machine to hum. It’s over in a matter of seconds and Percy darts (as fast as one his size can dart in a contained space) out to reposition the machine over Merlin’s arm, working with a haste Arthur greatly appreciates.

“Last one mate.” Percy is back with them again and has the machine humming once more.

“All done.”

Together, the three of them move from behind the wall as one, striding towards Merlin. Elena has the vest off him quick as a flash and Percy tenderly repositions Merlin’s arms back across his chest. Arthur feels more than a bit useless just standing there, but if today has taught him anything at all, it’s to let the professionals do their job. Then again, there’s more than one way to be helpful in this situation.

“Did you see my smile Arthur?” asks Merlin weakly as Percy sets him back in his chair. “How did I look?”

“Beautiful,” Arthur replies without a trace of irony.

“Good. Good.” Merlin’s eyes drift close like the effort of keeping them open just isn’t worth it anymore.

It’s becoming painfully obvious that the drugs are wearing off rapidly and Arthur is starting to get worried again.

“Is there anything else we could give him for the pain?” asks Arthur.

“I’m sorry sugar, not until Doctor Greene makes his diagnosis. It won’t take very long though; Percy here is one of our best. I’d say what,” she turns to Percy, “ten minutes tops?

“Five if Doc Greene is done with his snack break,” Percy treats them to another warm smile. “Thank you Merlin, you made that very easy on me. You’re the model patient.”

“Favourite,” Merlin grits out.

Percy looks mildly confused but Arthur just shakes his head fondly.

“Looks like you’re getting a wedding invitation too. I’ll see you in six months.”

Elena positions herself behind the chair once more and they leave Percy behind as they step back into the light. Compared to the dim lighting of the lab, the corridor lighting is practically offensive to Arthur’s eyes, and he blinks a few times to readjust. They make their way back through the core of the A&E, and are almost back to the room when the muffled speaker kicks to life and pages Doctor Greene to radiology.

“Here we are Merlin,” Elena coos as she brings the chair to a halt. “Let’s get you back up on the table.”

Merlin doesn’t respond but lets himself be lifted from the chair once more. Between the two of them, Arthur and Elena manage to get him settled with relatively little jostling. He keeps his eyes closed for the entire process but Arthur is pleased that his breathing stays relatively consistent. Elena slips the sling back around his wrist and does a quick wraparound of the tensor bandage on his ankle.

“There’s no reason we can’t give him a little support while we wait,” she says answering Arthur’s unasked question.

She steps back and Arthur takes his place at Merlin’s side once more, one arm wrapped around his shoulder, the other still holding that stupid blue shirt.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, just need to run this chair over to its new owner. You boys sit tight.”

She’s out the door without another word and Arthur sighs. He desperately wants this all to be over. Merlin echoes his sigh with a slightly more whine-like one of his own.

“Soon Merlin, soon,” Arthur says more to himself than Merlin.

The one slight (and he means slight) benefit of the drugs wearing off is that Merlin is far less likely to fling himself off the table now, which means Arthur can relax slightly. For the first time since the start of this whole mess, he allows himself to rest his head on top of Merlin’s and just _breathe_. It’s going to be okay. The worst is over. They’re going home soon. He can’t say how long they stay like that, cloistered together by necessity, each one drawing strength from the other, but any amount of quiet time spent with Merlin is never enough for Arthur.

“Well aren’t you two just adorable,” says a familiar Irish voice.

Arthur’s eyes fly open and take in the sight of Doctor Greene, leaning against the doorframe like he doesn’t have anything better to do than watch them cuddle. When Merlin doesn’t react to his arrival his face darkens slightly.

“How’s he doing?” asks Doctor Greene. “Percy said the x-rays weren’t pleasant.”

“No, they weren’t. He’s just gone a bit quiet really, which you’ll appreciate for Merlin is a rarity.”

“Conserving energy,” Merlin grunts.

“You’ll like this then,” says Doctor Greene. “The best news of your day is that I’ve got two of those painkillers you seem to like so much in my pocket and I’d like you to take them for me right now.”

Merlin takes the pills from his outstretched hand and swallows them before Doctor Greene can even make a move towards the sink.

“Impressive,” says Doctor Greene and he winks at Arthur for what feels like the fiftieth time today. “Now you keep on conserving energy until those take effect and try to listen when you can. Arthur and I will take care of the rest.”

He slaps an x-ray up on the light box and flicks it on.

 “The good news is, your ankle doesn’t show any signs of a fracture. Lots of nasty swelling, but you managed to keep all those bones intact. The bad news is I owe Arthur twenty pounds.”

“Cheers.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

 “The extra bad news,” he continues, swapping x-rays, “is that the arm is definitely fractured. Given the severity and angle of your fall, I’m very impressed you managed to have such a clean break.”

He uses his pen to point out the break in what Arthur thinks is a very unnecessary move. It’s clear to see the line of black running straight through a space that should be white.

“Your forearm is made up of two bones: the radius and the ulna.” He gestures to both in turn. “What you’ve got is a simple fracture across both of them. Hurts like hell, but is actually one of the easiest fractures to recover from.”

Merlin’s eyes are still closed but he gives a tiny nod. Arthur practically sags with relief against him. Not knowing what’s gone wrong is the worst part, and Arthur has always been a man of action – this he can deal with.

“How long is the recovery period?” he asks, putting on his best business face.

“Well the cast stays on for six weeks, but the entire healing period can take up to six months.”

“Jesus,” breathes Arthur, temporarily dropping his stiff upper lip.

“With luck, it won’t be as bad as that,” says Doctor Greene sympathetically. “You need to keep the arm absolutely immobile for the first two weeks and elevated as much as possible, but after that check in with your GP and get them to evaluate how soon he can start doing rehab exercises. Nothing major, just make a fist, twirl a pencil, that sort of thing. My advice: don’t push it. Let the body do what it does best and let it take care of itself. Merlin will be back to normal before you know it.” He smiles at Arthur and for the first time Arthur doesn’t feel like punching him in the face for it.

“Now, I’ll have the tech explain all the dos and don’ts of cast care while he’s wrapping him up, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. The sprained ankle is a little bit tricky to deal with at the same time, but it’s basically the same type of care. He needs to stay off it as much as possible. Follow the R.I.C.E method: rest, ice, compression, and elevation. I’ll give you a pamphlet for that too. I don’t think he’s going to need anything more than the bandage he’s already got, but if you don’t see a decrease in swelling and bruising in the next three or four days, take him into the GP and have them take a look.”

“What about pain management?” asks Arthur, all too aware that Merlin hasn’t said anything during their entire conversation.

“Ah, eager to get to the good stuff!” Doctor Greene winks and the urge to punch is back again. “I’ll write him a prescription for painkillers for the first week. He might not even need to take them in a couple days – I’ve had patients come out of here with fractures and never touch the stuff. Just use discretion and don’t exceed the maximum dosage. I recommend he skips out on work for at least the first week. I know that’s not always doable-”

“It’ll be fine. He works for my father,” says Arthur with conviction.

“Beautiful, tell him he needs two weeks off then. With pay!” Doctor Greene laughs. “Give me a couple minutes to get everything together and write down the instructions. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you seem like the type of guy who’s going to make an excellent nurse.”

“I try,” Arthur grumbles.

“And don’t forget,” Doctor Greene pauses in the doorway, “laughter is the best medicine. Keep him entertained, turn on the telly, and keep those endorphins pumping!”

Arthur sighs and wonders what Doctor Greene’s instructors must have thought of him when he was still in med school. The watch on his wrist beeps, muffled under Merlin’s shirt, and alerts him that it’s five o’clock – his usual quitting time – which means he’s officially done dealing with shit for the day. Any new antics or surprises are just going to have to wait until tomorrow – he’s off the clock.

A soft knock at the door alerts him to the newcomer. In the doorway stands a man carrying a tray full of gauze, scissors, cotton, and colourful rolls of fibreglass. His dark brown curls spill down his head like a waterfall, framing his beautiful brown eyes and blending into the soft fuzz on his face. Merlin’s chin lifts ever so slightly and he opens his eyes. Seeing that he has their attention, the man smiles and Arthur feels like he’s looking on the face of God.

“Hello, I’m Lance, the cast technician.”

Of course he is.

***

When Merlin wakes up the first thing he notices is the soft press of the sheets all over his naked body, caressing him with the lived-in feeling that he loves. The second is the difference in light. He had his colossally stupid accident under the cheerful rays of the early afternoon sun. The light spilling in through the bedroom curtains is rosy and softer in intensity, meaning it’s either dusk or dawn. Neither of these is particularly appealing given that the last thing Merlin remembers is fainting. Gloriously, the sharp pain that overwhelmed him earlier his died down to a gentle simmer that is more than manageable. He moves to sit up and stops when his arm feels heavier than it normally does. He looks down and takes in the sight of a hot pink cast wrapped around his arm.

What the fuck.

“Well look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” drawls a familiar voice.

Merlin decides to start with the obvious. “Why is my cast pink?”

“Because this was the closest shade you could find to ‘rainbow’,” Arthur sighs.

“What?”

He scrubs a hand across his face. “You wanted it to be decorated for Pride next weekend, despite my assurances that there’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of bed to get crushed in the crowd. It took five minutes to convince you that matching part of the flag was an appropriate way to celebrate.”

“Oh.” Merlin is definitely missing some crucial pieces of the puzzle. “So what happened?”

“Let’s see,” says Arthur, coming into the room properly and sitting down on his side of the bed, a careful distance away from his injured ankle. “You managed to break an arm, twist an ankle, and knock yourself out at the Games like an absolute twat – which, by the way, my father is not happy about – got shot up with pain meds by the oh so helpful paramedics, spent about three hours in A&E flirting with everything that moved, picked yourself out the prettiest cast you could find, and then spent the next fourteen hours drooling into your pillow.”

Merlin really isn’t surprised by any of this – it sounds like exactly the sort of dumb medical mishap that would happen to him. Out of Arthur’s entire story, there’s only one thing that bothers him.

“I was hitting on everything that moved?”

“Ohhhh yes,” says Arthur, drawing out the ‘oh’ for emphasis. “In your defence, the staff looked like they could all easily be aliens from the Planet of Beautiful People, but I think it was the drugs that convinced you to make such a spectacle of yourself.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to do with this information. He’s never once even considered the possibility of flirting with someone else since he’s been with Arthur. The thought that he would do it so easily a little under the influence makes his stomach flop unhappily.

“Oh Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it Merlin, you were high on pills and obviously weren’t going to actually make a move. It’s not like I felt threatened by any of them.” Arthur shrugs but Merlin is far too familiar with Arthur’s body language to know when something is bothering him.

“Hey, come here,” he gestures with his good hand and Arthur moves slowly up the bed until he’s sitting cross-legged at Merlin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or made you jealous,” he holds up a hand to silence Arthur before he can interrupt. “I know I didn’t have much control over the situation at the time, but I’m still sorry if it made you feel bad.” He rests his palm on Arthur’s knee. “If it helps, I don’t even remember what any of them look like.”

“You invited all of them to our wedding so that’s something to look forward to.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t!” Merlin’s jaw drops. “Did I?”

“You definitely did,” Arthur sniggers. “You even made me write down the details for Lance so he can put it in his calendar before the invitations go out.”

“Oh God,” Merlin moans, “I’m too high for this right now to know if you’re telling the truth.”

“Check your cast. They all signed it.”

Merlin looks down at his club-like arm in dismay. Sure enough, framed around a large black scribble that takes up most of the space, he can make out at least three signatures and the start of a fourth that wraps around his wrist. He can’t quite make out the names, but someone has distinctly drawn a picture of a wedding cake with little hearts around it next to their signature. He uses his good hand to help raise the cast and inspects the underside. The same large scribble is dashed across it, matching the one on the front. In fact, the more he looks at it, the more he’s sure he knows what it is.

“Arthur, did you seriously sign the front _and_ the back of my cast?”

“Just in case it got rubbed off on one side,” says Arthur casually.

“Does it...” he squints, “does it say ‘property of’ in brackets?”

“That was just a precaution in case we got separated on the journey home.”

“Oh my God.”

“Well excuse me for trying to be prepared,” says Arthur defensively. “Do you even know how difficult you are to deal with when you’re stoned? You tried to convince me we should take the tube home. _The tube, Merlin_. That’s basically like saying ‘you know what sounds like a good idea? Riding on a stand-up rollercoaster filled with assholes’. You wouldn’t stop going on about how climate change is killing the planet and one person can make a difference by choosing public transport. I was afraid you were going to make a break for it at the cab stand!”

They stare at each other for a moment, both frowning.

“That does sound like something I’d do,” Merlin concedes.

“Anyways, you can colour over it or something if you like.” Arthur waves offhandedly.

“I love it,” says Merlin firmly, “it’s very you.”

Arthur grins and Merlin relaxes back into the pillows. He’s very stiff and more than a little bit thirsty.

“Do you think you can help me up? I feel like I could drink the sea right now.”

“Oh no,” says Arthur, crossing his arms. “I have a strict regime planned out for you and getting yourself drinks is not part of it.”

“Of course you do.”

“So,” Arthur picks up his phone from the bedside table. “Are you in any great amount of pain?”

“No.”

“Do you feel sick to your stomach?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Thirsty?”

“I thought we covered this already?”

“I’m just following the list. Do you have to wee?”

“No.”

“Shit?”

“Arthur!”

“We’ve no secrets between us anymore Merlin, you already went once at the hospital.”

“Oh God.”

“So overall-”

“Would you give me like, two minutes to feel mortified that you’ve seen me poop?”

“Relax, one of the nurses cleaned you up. I’m confident that you have enough mobility with your other hand to prevent me from ever needing to see you poop.”

“Yes! Fuck, we are so done with this conversation.”

“Not yet. So overall, you need a drink and maybe something to eat in a little bit?”

“Isn’t that what I said before you started in on this stupid list?” asks Merlin, completely exasperated.

“It’s important to keep track of your vitals Merlin. I won’t have you still hobbling around at our wedding because I was negligent with your care. Your mother will be crushed if you can’t dance with her.”

“Because of course you wouldn’t care at all,” Merlin grins.

“Not in the slightest.” Arthur plugs his phone in and tosses it back on the nightstand. “Now, Doctor Greene gave me firm instructions on how to help you get better and we are going to follow them to the letter. That means no unnecessary trips to the kitchen, you keep your foot and your arm elevated at all times, and you let me know the instant the pain starts getting bad, agreed?”

“You know, it’d be much easier if you just chained me to the bed.”

A funny look crosses Arthur’s face that Merlin can’t quite place.

“Agreed?” he repeats with more force.

“Agreed,” Merlin rolls his eyes.

“Good,” says Arthur, and he pulls back the sheets and grabs hold of Merlin’s cock.

Merlin hisses in surprise and nearly arches off the bed, but Arthur’s other hand pins his hips down and forces him to stay earthbound. Arthur’s hand is soft and feels oh-so-good as he works his way up and down, coaxing Merlin’s cock into a standing position.

“What the fuck?” Merlin chokes out. “I thought I was supposed to rest?”

“You are,” says Arthur as if his actions are completely logical and Merlin is the stupid one.

“This is restful?” Merlin squirms again but Arthur refuses to let him move anything more than his hips.

“It will be if you stop moving,” Arthur grumbles. “Just close your eyes and relax.”

Merlin doesn’t need telling twice and lets his eyes flutter shut, losing himself in Arthur’s grip and the pumping blood making itself at home in his groin. The pace Arthur sets is steady, perforated by short bursts of speed, and any other day it would be enough, but right now it’s just this side of too slow. Maybe it’s his body celebrating that ‘yay, we didn’t die’ or maybe it’s just responding to the first rush of adrenaline not brought on by pain, but Merlin is more than ready for whatever is about to happen next. He braces himself with his good arm and leg pressed firmly into the mattress and teases his hips upwards, seeing how far he can go before Arthur pushes him down again. The answer apparently, is not fucking far enough. Arthur is bossy enough in bed normally, but now that Merlin’s health is involved he seems to be extra keen on making all the decisions. Merlin bites back a whine because as good as it feels he knows it’s not going to get him there.

Displaying an eerie aptitude for sensing Merlin’s needs, Arthur suddenly stops.

“This isn’t working for you, is it?” Arthur frowns.

“No. Maybe you should try sitting on it,” he replies with all the innocence he can muster.

“Absolutely not, that would put way too much pressure on your body.” He tilts his head in an almost birdlike movement, looking at Merlin in a calculating way.

Merlin closes his eyes again and tugs half-heartedly on his cock. If he goes fast enough, maybe he can just trick himself in to coming. There’s some shifting to his left and he assumes Arthur is getting up, maybe to get him a glass of water, when suddenly there’s a warm body between his legs.

“If I do this,” says Arthur, his breath dancing across Merlin’s skin, making the hairs stand up on end, “you have to be good and let me do all the work. I won’t be bringing you back to A&E because you managed to sprain something else from the excitement. Elena would never let me hear the end of it.”

“O-okay,” says Merlin, more than a little confused but excited at having Arthur’s mouth that close to his crotch.

Arthur settles himself down into the v of Merlin’s legs, gently moving his injured leg to the side, one arm snaking under it for further support. The other hand returns to his hip, using more force than before to pin him to the bed. Merlin’s cock stands up straighter and he continues to pull on himself, faster and more erratically than Arthur had done.

“You should probably move your bad arm out of the way, just so you aren’t temped to use it for anything,” says Arthur as he presses soft kisses to the inside of Merlin’s thigh.

Merlin doesn’t need telling twice. He stows it safely out of harm’s way above his head, just in time for Arthur to take him in his mouth all the way down to the root.

It’s too much too fast and exactly what Merlin needs. His hips raise of their own volition and he hasn’t got a hope in hell of keeping them down. They raise him up, up, up, further into the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth, Merlin’s dick hardening faster than it has in years. It’s over all too quickly as Arthur gains control of the situation and pushes him back gently onto the bed.

He pulls off with a succulent pop and Merlin moans at the sudden loss of friction.

“Merlin, I’m serious, I will stop this right now if you continue to go against the doctor’s orders.” His tone is serious but he’s rubbing his thumb in circles on Merlin’s hipbone in a way that’s driving him absolutely wild.

He’s not coherent enough for this conversation. “Is this why you decided to tuck me in naked? Because the doctor ordered you to give me blowjobs?”

“Not in so many words,” and he can hear the smirk in Arthur’s voice. “But he did say to keep your endorphins pumping and unless you can think of a better idea, we’re going with this.”

“No, no, this is fine. Please continue.” He means it to sound light but his voice cracks on the last word and his desperation spills out.

Merlin’s free hand finds Arthur’s hair and he tangles his fingers in it slightly frantically, waiting for Arthur to decide on the course of action.

His unspoken prayers are answered when Arthur licks a hot stripe on his cock from root to tip.

“God Arthur, yes!” Merlin bites his lip, ignoring the sting and sudden taste of blood as his lip splits open again.

Arthur switches his attention to the head, working his lips and tongue like he was born to suck cock. Merlin keens and uses all his available willpower to resist thrusting up and humping Arthur’s mouth. Luck is on his side though, and the overwhelming need to move dissipates as Arthur cups his balls, squeezing and caressing at the same time. Merlin moans at the intensity and grips Arthur’s hair like it’s his lifeline. Arthur rumbles low in his throat and starts to take him deeper again, hungry and possessive.

He knows he could ride this wave all the way to the end, but something feels off about it. He forces his brain to stop being sucked out through his cock and actually uses it to think for a minute. It’s not that Arthur isn’t normally enthusiastic in bed; quite the opposite. But usually it’s reciprocal, both of them going at each other, hot and heavy not knowing where one person ends and the other begins. But this, being forced to lay completely still without even getting to _touch_ Arthur back is driving him insane.

“Stop, stop for a minute and come up here,” Merlin pats the space next to him clumsily.

“Why?” he asks and there’s a hardness in his voice that Merlin can’t place.

“I need to slow down and I haven’t touched you at all yet.”

“No, I don’t want you hurting yourself anymore.” He’s pulled away completely now, sitting back on his knees, out of Merlin’s reach.

“It’s not going to hurt me to jerk you off with my good hand, now come on.” The sweat on Merlin’s chest is starting to cool and he’s getting annoyed at Arthur for being so difficult.

“I don’t want to come.”

“You don’t want to come?” asks Merlin skeptically.

“No.”

“That’s stupid,” Merlin scoffs, “why not?”

“For Christ’s sake Merlin, just leave it alone!” Arthur all but shouts

Merlin opens his mouth to respond but thinks better of it. He’s completely wrong-footed by this turn of events and feels more than a little exposed with his cock still standing proudly erect. He wishes he could sit up and lay a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, apologise for whatever he said or did that made Arthur so hostile. Another part of him wants to sit up just to spite Arthur and yell because what the hell has he done wrong? Arthur sits with his back to him, hunched over with his head in his hands. He’s less than a foot away, but from Merlin’s point of view he’s untouchable.

“You’re going to have to throw me a line here Arthur,” he says quietly. “I can’t come to you so I need you to come to me.”

Arthur whips around, his hair wild and his eyes wilder.

“Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying-,” he rakes a hand through his hair and casts his eyes about the room. “Merlin, you weren’t there for a lot of yesterday, but I’ve never felt so scared in my life. I wasn’t there when you fell, I wasn’t the one who got you to the hospital and filled out your forms, I couldn’t do anything for you at the hospital. I just…need this.”

And suddenly it all slots into place. For all of Uther’s success in improving employee relations, he hasn’t quite made the same strides in his personal life. The early years after they lost Ygraine were hard on everyone. He knows it wasn’t easy growing up in a home where ‘I love you’ was something reserved for a special occasion when it was a perfunctory courtesy. Some scars run deeper than others and though he’s come a long way from being that lost little boy, it’s not always easy for Arthur to express himself. Couple that with Arthur’s ingrained hatred of hospitals and Merlin’s idiotic behaviour under the influence, and it makes perfect sense. He needs to let it out somehow, all the mixed chemicals of the day: fear, adrenaline, joy, sadness. And this is the way he’s choosing to do it, giving himself some relief in worshiping Merlin’s body with his mouth and heart and soul.

“When my father called…you could have been dying and I wasn’t there and I need, Christ Merlin I need to give you this, I need-”

“Take it,” Merlin cuts him off. Arthur’s eyes find his again and Merlin needs to make that haunted look leave them immediately.

“Take it, take all of me, take whatever you need,” he pleads breathlessly.

Arthur looks at him like he’s staring at divinity itself. His chest is heaving like he’s run a half-mile and he sighs a wordless ‘thank you’ by engulfing Merlin’s cock in his mouth once more. Merlin’s head lolls to the side and he grips Arthur’s hair like it’s his last tether to earth. His muscles tighten and the ones in his sprained ankle protest but he’s too far gone to worry about the minor twinge of pain.

“Yes Arthur, you have it, you have me, all of me, forever,” he chokes out.

Arthur whimpers, his movements frantic, without any rhythm or finesse. Just swallows him down like he’s trying to devour him, hand pumping furiously, working up and down the slick shaft like a madman. It’s wonderful and too much, charged with so much _want_ that Merlin can’t hold on much longer.

“Arthur, fuck, you have me. I’m yours.”

He feels himself starting to come and everything that holds him to this plane unravels. He’s floating somewhere far, far away, lost to everything but the pulsing of his cock. Arthur sucks him through it, swallowing it all down like starving man with an insatiable hunger. When he finally comes down Arthur pulls off gently and rests his forehead in the crease of Merlin’s hip, breathing in the scent with long, shuddering breaths. Merlin pretends he doesn’t notice the moisture on Arthur’s cheeks, damp channels that weren’t left there by sex or sweat. Arthur isn’t ready for that discussion right now. So Merlin lies there, unmoving, content to simply bask in the afterglow and rub circles on the back of Arthur’s neck.

It’s impossible to say how long they lie there, the sounds of traffic and pedestrians outside their window the only reminder that there’s life beyond their bedroom walls. When Arthur has finally gotten enough of what he needs, he retreats to the bathroom, returning moments later with a damp washcloth.

“Now don’t go expecting this every night,” he warns, scrubbing the cloth across his face to destroy the evidence. “The doctor said you could take six months to heal, and I’d give myself lockjaw if I gave a performance of that calibre every twenty-four hours.”

“You’re so chivalrous it hurts.” Merlin rolls his eyes and suddenly their dynamic is back to normal.

“You know it.” Arthur plops the washcloth on his stomach and starts to wipe. “Gallant to a fault.”

“So what time is it anyways?”

“Just gone half-five.” He passes a clean corner of the cloth softly over Merlin’s bloodied lip.

“Ugh. What a revolting time to be awake. Do you think I should call in sick now or wait until office hours?” he calls to Arthur’s retreating back.

“Neither,” Arthur shouts from somewhere down the hall. “My father has already spoken with HR and you are officially on a paid leave of absence.”

“He must love that,” Merlin grouses.

“I think he’s just pleased you aren’t going to sue. Sunday dinners might be a tad awkward for a while, but I reckon we’ll just cancel this week’s and give him some time to pretend you didn’t get hurt at his precious Games.”

“Wonderful.”

“Oh cheer up, it’s not all bad news,” says Arthur, returning with the glass of water it feels like Merlin requested a lifetime ago. “Cedric has been put on a temporary suspension and has to log sixty-hours of a webinar on bullying and cyberbullying in the workplace before he can go back to work.”

Merlin nearly snorts water out his nose laughing. “What the hell for?”

“He uh,” Arthur looks distinctly uncomfortable as he sits down on the bed, “got his hands on a video of your accident and posted it on YouTube.”

“Oh fuck off!”

“Don’t worry, it’s already been taken down! And my father reportedly ripped him a new one. Mordred said he could hear him all the way from the other end of the footie pitch.”

“Jesus. I almost feel bad for Cedric.”

“Don’t,” Arthur says darkly. “He shouldn’t have taken any joy in your pain.”

“I said I _almost_ feel bad for him.” Merlin reaches out with his good hand and cups Arthur’s face. Arthur leans into the touch like it’s heaven on earth and suddenly Merlin knows how he wants to spend the rest of his morning.

“Can we just nap for a while?”

Arthur pulls away from his hand, almost imperceptibly.

“I was actually going to sleep out on the sofa, just for the first week or so to make sure I didn’t roll onto you,” he says hesitantly.

“You want to keep my endorphins up? We’re sleeping in the same bed together.” At Arthur’s skeptical look he rolls his eyes and continues. “We’ll put up a pillow barrier or something, but I refuse to sleep by myself for a week. What if a pillow falls on my face and my limited mobility means I can’t get it off and I suffocate? All because you weren’t here to prevent it.”

“That does sound like the sort of idiotic thing you’d do,” Arthur concedes.

“Come on then,” Merlin pats the space beside him for the second time today.

It takes them a few minutes to get comfortable, Arthur insisting on putting three pillows between them and Merlin refusing to stay on his side of the barricade. In the end they settle for Arthur lying on his side, his arm draped across Merlin’s middle. Arthur manages to stuff two more pain pills into him and they make the descent into sleep easier.

“Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for taking care of me and putting up with all my shit.” He tangles their fingers together and their rings clink. “And thank you in advance for continuing to deal with whatever happens later.”

“It’s a tough job,” Arthur agrees, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze, “but someone has to do it.”


End file.
